


War prize

by Cirilla9



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Orc Culture, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Bolg liked pretty things. And he liked to conquer.





	War prize

**Author's Note:**

> Basically: violence is sexually arousing, especially if you're an orc. And elves' fighting style is violent as Halls of Mandos.

„Are we going after the rest of dwarves’ scums?” asked one of the Bolg’s subordinates.

He was right, of course, they should go after Durin’s litter. The thing was, the blond elf was pretty and Bolg liked pretty things. And Bolg liked to conquer. The blonde was swirling at the roof tops currently, cutting down Bolg’s party with an ease that suggested a prospective conquest would be highly satisfactory.

“Chief?”

The elf jumped to the balcony, leaped to Bolg’s minion that was about to crawl over the barrier, and cut off the orc’s head, a clean cut with his daggers. The body fell down, when a head was yet held by the crossed knives. Bolg, eyes glued to the blonde, was at the verge of salivating.

“No, go outside the city, lurk at some hide and wait there for me.”

“But Azog’s orders were to finish off the dwarvish cunts. Is it wise to-” Bolg stabbed his saber through the other’s chest, sliding the blade neatly between armor plates and ribs. The orc gurgled, his sentence drowned in the bubbles of blood coming from his mouth, then he fell down from his warg. Riderless wargs fell upon the killed soldier and sounds of feast and growls could be heard of the streets of Esgaroth.

Bolg glared around the rest of his troop. “Someone else wanted to say something? No? Good, then do as I said. You two, stay with me.”

Pack of warg riders, sans the two chosen by Bolg, galloped out of the city.  

Bolg meanwhile found himself a hiding perfect for an ambush, near the long single bridge that connected the city upon the lake to the dry land. The elf must ride herein, leaving the men’s settlement.

When the elf showed up, just where Bolg predicted, he was alone, without his redhead companion. That meant less fun but less loitering as well. Just in case, Bolg ordered his underlings to keep an eye for the redhead, before engaging in the fight with the blonde.

He underestimated the elf. Or rather, not the elf himself but his agility. The blonde slid out of his grasp swiftly like a cat, Bolg couldn’t tell in which moment exactly it happened. He got the elf pressed flush to his chest, held him in a sure grip, limiting his movements, only to have his hands empty, barren of an elf in the next instant. No, this wouldn’t do.

So he pushed the slender fighter at his two allies and went for his mount himself. He didn’t count at the two troopers defeating any elf in a fight but they would occupy the wood creature for a while. Bolg, ready to ride, waited long enough until the fight ended unsurprisingly and the victorious elf noticed him. Only when Bolg was sure he got the elf’s revenge thirsty eyes upon him, he set off of the city, urging his warg to a fast run.

The padding of the giant paws were near soundless and soon enough he heard the clop of the hooves behind his back.

 

* * *

 

 

He sniffed them in the sparse copse, where the trees casted deeper shadow in the night, concealing them from the eyes of the creatures of the day, obscuring them from the light of the moon. Bolg rushed among the trees upon his warg, dismounted and looked around. The ground was higher here than the surrounding marshes, the soil drier.

“The elf will be here soon,” he told his companions and warned “you are not to kill him,” ignoring the disappointed grunts of the orcs and whines of the wargs.

The elf did not lunge into the grove as Bolg awaited him to do. He must have left the horse outside of the bushes for they found out about his presence from the swift arrows piercing the throats of two orcs.

Blond hair flashed between the darkness of the trees and Bolg reached out to seize it but the elf avoided his grasp.

“Ats-ta!*” yelled Bolg at his underlings.

The elf whirled among the orcs and wargs surrounding him like a swirling dagger, just as lethal. Despite the odds his strikes showered them in death, his sword glittering with its own light fell upon them like a sunray, injuring them like sun hurt their eyes. In the other hand the elf held a knife; his quiver was empty, he must have fired his last two arrows at his arrival.

Bolg watched the scene with growing arousal, the smell of orcish blood was thick in the air, the breeze carried the whimpers of the wargs. One of the orcs managed to knock out the elf’s dagger before the blonde cut off his hand. Though watching was exciting, Bolg joined the fight soon, fearing his troopers would be lost too soon and of no aid to his wicked plans.

“Nork-ta shapat!**” he called when he immobilized the elf for a moment. Three orcs and one warg were dead before the fifth daredevil succeeded in fulfilling Bolg’s command.

Bolg inhaled the foreign, too clean smell of the blond hair underneath his chin before the elf smacked his skull into Bolg’s face, throwing him off. The scent wasn’t to Bolg’s liking but there was also the underlying note of sweat and battle grim and soon it wouldn’t matter anyway, all the good and fair would disappear under Bolg’s attention.

“Fiith-ta,***” he barked as he threw the lithe body at his companions.

As the elf was without any blade now, the orcs finally managed to subdue him although it took longer than Bolg would have liked; with the agile creature writhing his way out of the orcs’ grip a few times and fighting just as savagely as before even robbed of his weapons.

Bolg watched the elf hitting, kicking and occasionally biting his minions with a lewd smile, and his loincloth became tighter with any futile trash of the elf. Bolg gestured for the wargs and the giant wolves obediently ripped the elf’s tunic, leather armlets, shirt with their paws. The action resulted in many scratches upon the elf’s pale skin as well but the woodland creature did not make any sound of pain. Blue eyes bore into Bolg with steely coldness.

Azog’s son called the wargs off before they went for the breeches with their claws and fangs. He didn’t care for the elf’s well-being, it was a matter of pride - he wanted to be the first to bring damage down there.

He strode to the elf and tore open the remaining garments himself. The creature stood now a bit calmer, countless orcs’ palms holding him from all sides, some even twisting into his hair. Prevented from moving hardly more than an inch, the elf seemed to brace himself for coming torture. Bolg wondered if the captive knew where this was heading.

Bolg reached for his own loincloth, strapping off the codpiece made from the skull of his first own-handedly killed enemy. As he freed his hard cock and stroked the heavy weight of it, elf’s face from usual haughty impassiveness twisted into a clearly visible disgust.

Grinning, Bolg raised the hand he had touched himself with to the elf’s face. The blonde shuddered with repulsion as Bolg traced his thick fingers through the smooth cheek and tried to bite the offending digits but the tight grip in his hair did not let him. He managed to free one of his leg, however and was close to wedging it into Bolg’s crotch lest the orc chief wouldn’t step back just in time.

“Unr-ta,” Bolg repeated, watching as the elf’s fervor grew, his eyes shone with hate and lean muscles tensed in preparation to break free. “Thak u sat.****”

The outnumbered elf’s struggles were for nothing as Bolg’s thralls ground the blonde into the forest’s dirt, kneeling at his arms, pinning down his back. Bolg ordered them off the elf’s legs and though it earned him several strong kicks in his own shins and thighs as he knelt down behind the elf; that little pain was worth the feeling of gaining victory over his enemy as he grabbed the flying limbs, spread them wide, pushed to the forest floor and bracketed one with his hand, the other with his left knee.

He wanted to shove his cock in without any preparation but after first failed try, he pushed just his fingers into the elf’s tight ass. The elf jerked, managing to free out of one of the orc’s grip but soon two next took the abandoned place.

Bolg didn’t waste time on teasing the wood’s inhabitant; the cold, marble-like folk of the green forests didn’t even know how to have fun in such things. Besides he sought to defeat the creature, make it subdue before his greater power, not give it any pleasure. The pain would do, he concluded, spreading the elf’s flesh forcefully.

He took his fingers out of the elf’s hole then and raised his second hand to spread the elf’s cheek wide open. The moment he let go of one of the elf’s legs, he got a harsh kick to the side. Swearing, he spat the saliva he was intending as a lubricant to the grass besides elf’s hip, grabbed the elf’s sides and rammed his cock vengefully in the dry opening.

The elf screamed at last, his body shaking under Bolg as his hole spasmed most delightfully around Bolg’s cock. Bolg kept still for a moment, balls-deep in the elf, just to prolong the sensation. But then the elf went quiet and Bolg moved his hips to make him shriek again. The elf tried to stifle his cries at the next thrusts, so Bolg took it as a challenge to force more sounds from him beside harsh choking breath.

“Âdhn!*****” Bolg barked to his underlings and as they did the elf trashed more, desperately trying to get off Bolg’s cock despite how his squirming must made things even more painful for him.

Bolg leaned down, pinning the elf to the ground with his greater weight, not caring how his permanent armor plates must dug into the skin of the elf’s back. He fucked the elf, canting his hips into long satisfying swipes. Things got slicker when the elf started to bleed and Bolg grabbed his shoulders for better leverage as his cock slid in and out more easily.

The elf hardly got any space to move crashed under Bolg’s body but he did not stop fighting even for a second which turned Bolg on even more. The only imperfection in the whole ordeal was that the elf ceased to cry out, even when Bolg delivered a particularly hard jab or when his pace quickened due to a nearing end.

Bolg changed his position slightly, lifting his chest from the elf but keeping him down by the scruff of the neck. The second palm Bolg put on elf’s hip and, holding him bruisingly hard in place, he thrusted one more time and came in the elf’s bleeding arsehole.  

The elf made a far better picture now when Bolg was done with him than at the begging of their fights. His perfect hair were tangled, his formerly unblemished skin marred with teeth marks, bruises and cuts. The wounds on his back reflected perfectly Bolg’s chest armor.

When Bolg pulled out, it was even better when he could admire the mix of his semen and the elf’s blood on the inside of the elf’s thighs.

Bolg stood up and there was a moment of hesitation from his underlings when they waited for further orders. The elf was left unattended that moment too long. He got to his hands and knees, faster than someone just raped should be able to move and lunged for his sword some idiot of Bolg’s privates left too close.

The elf, naked, bleeding and reeking of orcs’ scents, charged at Bolg but one of the wargs got in his way. Bolg leaped onto his own mount, from its back he leaned down to grab his skull adorned loincloth and urged the beast to run.

“Finish him off,” he ordered his minions, shouting the command on his way out of the copse. He never once doubted they all will fall in that fight but they would put off the elf’s eventual chase and though Bolg would gladly fight and kill the creature at least, it would take too much time and he delayed things enough.

 

* * *

 

  

When Bolg rode up to his father, Azog the Defiler was leading an army of orcs. The thousands’ numerous troops pulled over at one halting gesture of his blade turned hand.

“Where’s your band?”

“The elf killed them.”

Azog forced his warg nearer  Bolg’s, closing the distance between them threateningly.

“How could you let just one elf slaughter your entire party?”

“I forbid them to kill him and he was hard to hold in place. Caused much damage. But in the end I got what I wanted.”

“And what is it you wanted?”

“His ass.”

Azog the Defiler looked at him without another word of praise or condemnation but with one proud thought in his mind: _my blood._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Supposedly they're talking in the Black Speech the whole time. Original lines are only with Legolas for better climate and due to my being lazy researcher.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> * catch him
> 
> ** take his sword
> 
> *** hold him
> 
> **** hold him ... face to the ground
> 
> ***** leave, abandon
> 
> Source: http://www.thelandofshadow.com/mordorgate/darkdownloads/blackspeech/BS-A-.htm


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